


me and you, sunken in a dream together

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, this is soft okay don't at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: Minhyun thinks that he may be both the unluckiest and luckiest person in the world.





	me and you, sunken in a dream together

**Author's Note:**

> icb i'm the first one writing this ship where are y'all's priorities at  
> anyways i'm finally releasing this fic from the dungeon of my google docs lmao (it's been sitting there for.. idk)

_start._

* * *

Minhyun thinks that he may be both the unluckiest and luckiest person in the world.

He doesn’t even know when or where or how or why it started. He can only sit back and search his own memory and assume.

Maybe it was when he went to go take a shower one day after practice, only to find that someone was already occupying the bathroom.

“I--” he began, frozen, one hand still on the doorknob, as he stared in front of him. “I-I’m sorry.”

He simply stepped out and shut the door behind him without a single word, leaving the person standing on the other side dumbfounded and mildly embarrassed. Minhyun stood there for several moments, his back against the wood, staring down at the ground. Yet, his vision was not filled with the dull color and springy texture of the carpet beneath his toes. Rather, he sees what he just saw.

He sees Woojin, standing there, three-fourths of his body turned towards Minhyun just as he was stepping out of his underwear. He sees the bend of Woojin’s back, the jutting of his collarbones and his shoulderblades and the lines from the folds in his stomach as he was hunched over. He sees the knobbiness of his knees and elbows and the smooth planes that create his waist, thighs, and calves. He can see the definition of his chest, the shadows created by his bones and muscle as they trailed downwards onto his torso, where they soon converged with the lines of his hips, the tops of his pelvis--

Minhyun shook his head and walked away.

He and Woojin never discussed this event, or at least not directly. Both of them were not confrontational people to begin with, and coupled with the fact that there were much more pertinent things to think about, the topic never came up in conversation. Or at least, not only between the two of them. Sometimes Minhyun would be playing poker with some of the other guys and they’d discuss stupid or funny moments that’d happened.

“I walked in on Woojin undressing himself because I thought the bathroom was empty,” Minhyun said, with a short laugh.

“Yeah, I didn’t even get to say anything, he just immediately said ‘sorry’ and shut the door,” Woojin added. Minhyun looked at him and saw the slightest hue of orange beneath his eyes, crawling to his temples -- the color was orange, because illuminated by the golden light of the lamp hanging above the dining table, the red and pink became orange. “He did it so quickly that I first thought that nothing happened.”

The group around the table laughed. “You’re so diplomatic,” Sungwoon commented, and Minhyun shook his head in good grace.

The second time it happened, Minhyun remembers, it was not so… informal, if that is even the right word to describe it. Minhyun sometimes thought about the planes of skin that created Woojin’s shape as he went about the mundane tasks of his day, but those thoughts passed as quickly as they came -- fleeting, he called them, because they escaped his conscious in the same way that your breath would dissipate in cold air.

But those puffs of air became tangible clouds in front of his eyes that second time, he thinks. He was just walking around from room-to-room, because it was his turn that week to do the laundry. The door to the room Woojin shared with Jihoon was closed, and so Minhyun knocked twice on it. There was no answer, and turning the doorknob, the thing was unlocked, so he stepped right in.

He still hasn’t figured out if his timing was perfect or if it was disastrous. He hasn’t even figured out of Woojin _knew_ it was him.

He just remembers seeing the curves of Woojin’s chest and torso as he arched his back. He remembers seeing the lines of his neck and his shoulders tremble and shake in time with the pleasure that coursed through his body. He remembers seeing his eyes shut closed, mouth hanging slightly ajar with labored breaths.

And, of course, he remembers seeing the slim shapes that created Woojin’s fingers wrapped around his own cock, playing with the head that was a noticeably darker color than the rest of the body.

“I--” Minhyun began, but he went unheard, whether because of the fact his voice did not come out or because of the fact his voice was so weak--his _body_ felt quite weak at that moment--he doesn’t know. He only hastily closed the door behind him, the thing shutting with a louder-than-necessary _click_ , before he walked away, his ankles slightly unstable.

They’re all guys, they all do this, Minhyun knows. This was not the first time he’d seen one of his bandmates doing something questionable, but this was certainly his first time seeing _Woojin_ do it. He was, and still is, unaware of what drove him to think that way--and he’s quite sure that it wasn’t solely the fact that he saw Woojin’s _dick_ \--but rather, he thought it just had to do with the fact that it was _Woojin_.

Minhyun has seen his fair share of things in the world that’ve captured his eye and his memory, but never before have they been a person, he thinks, and never before has he been enraptured to this degree. He does admit that even before he began to think like this, he thought that Woojin’s appearance went underappreciated for what it was, but then again Minhyun thinks that about all of his bandmates whose looks are underappreciated.

There were multiple times where he could consciously catch images of Woojin floating through his visible memory -- it wasn’t just the whole picture of Woojin jacking himself off, but for some reason, Minhyun found himself isolating parts of the image. There was Woojin’s face as his eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open slightly, and Minhyun could see him breathing right in front of him. There was Woojin’s neck, shoulders, and chest, and Minhyun would see those lines move, fold, bob up and down with every swallow and breath Woojin took. There was Woojin’s abdomen and his hips, which would tremble, shadows shifting as they moved to the rhythm created by his hand.

Of course, Minhyun could and would see lower -- he saw Woojin’s palm wrapped around the body of his cock, stroking upwards towards the head, even though Minhyun isn’t sure those were the movements Woojin had been taking, yet for some reason his head automatically filled in the gaps for him.

Sometimes he questions if it’s a sexual fantasy, if he sees Woojin as an object of affection or lust, but then Minhyun looks at himself and realizes that it can be neither. It’s not like he has the urge to fuck Woojin, per se--the image of Woojin’s hand and his dick is one of the memories that occur least often for him--and the idea of dating Woojin is nothing to him than an idea -- it’s not an uncomfortable idea, but it’s not something Minhyun feels himself seeking out.

But he does have some kind of want, some kind of subconscious desire that sometimes makes itself conscious and more often does not. He doesn’t know if Woojin notices it, or if any of his other bandmates notice it -- he doesn’t think they have, yet Minhyun can sometimes be stuck in his own head for too long.

He finds Woojin snacking aimlessly on some crackers while he’s watching Daehwi and Jinyoung try to assault each other with their video game remote controllers, and without thinking, Minhyun places his hands on Woojin’s shoulders.

Woojin only jumps just slightly, and he looks up at Minhyun with a smile that’s lined with crumbs. “Hi, hyung,” he says, and Minhyun’s looking down at him, but necessarily _at_ him -- he’s instead watching his own fingertips resting on Woojin’s shoulders.

“Hi,” he replies, quietly, and Woojin seems to notice that he’s not exactly looking him in the eye, and he tries to decipher what exactly Minhyun is gazing at.

The collar of the shirt Woojin is wearing is slightly long, exposing the rise of the bone that connects his spine and his shoulders, and Minhyun sees that ridge. His hands move in closer, fingerpads resting on that area of skin, and he doesn’t know if he’s imagining things or not, but he thinks he sees the slightest of goosebumps rise. He’s nearly made it to the base of Woojin’s neck when Woojin says something.

“H-Hyung,” he murmurs, and Minhyun finally looks him in the eye.

“Oh,” Minhyun says, pursing his lips, “how far are you on that song you’re working on?”

Woojin nods slightly, his gaze flickering downward for a moment. “It’s going alright, I think I can finish in a few weeks,” he replies.

“Can I have a listen of what you’ve got so far?” Minhyun asks. It is only when Woojin gives him a quiet “yeah” does he release his hands and turn away, gripping a wrist with a palm as if the limb were an entirely foreign object to him.

Well, to him, his limbs may as well be foreign objects. Minhyun sometimes watches himself sneak and arm around Woojin’s shoulders when they're standing next to each other, imagining how those shoulders may shift when Woojin moves. Sometimes his hand will sit at the small of Woojin's back, right where the dip in flesh is, and he will see those lines that converge together from Woojin's skin. Maybe Minhyun will wrap his hand around Woojin's wrist and feel that knob that juts out underneath his own thumb.

If Woojin notices anything, he says nothing. In fact, Minhyun thinks he knows something, because he gives Minhyun these odd little glances. He's not entirely uncomfortable, per se, more like he adorns the reaction someone might get from seeing something strangely bright. Or maybe this is nothing more than Minhyun's conscious projecting itself.

But no, Minhyun is smart. He always has been.

The third time it happens, it is no accident.

He walks into Woojin’s room, because he had lent Daniel a book that somehow made its way into Seongwoo’s hands and thusly into Jihoon’s, and Minhyun is quite sure it might be somewhere under Jihoon’s bed. When he walks in, he sees Woojin’s bare back facing him, and he swallows. Taking a few slow steps closer, he notices that Woojin is wearing a pair of sweatpants, and his hair is coated several shades darker. A towel sits next to him, and he is looking down at his phone.

At hearing Minhyun’s footsteps, he looks up. “Oh, hi hyung!” he greets, smiling. “What’s up?”

“...You know that book that Jihoon was reading? The one with the red hardcover?” Minhyun asks, slowly.

Woojin nods. “What about it?”

“Do you have any idea where it is? It’s mine,” Minhyun replies.

Woojin shakes his head. “Sorry,” he murmurs, offering a sheepish smile, “Jihoon can be kind of messy. Your best bet is under the bed or under the pile of clothes on top of that chair in the corner.”

Minhyun can only nod quietly, saying, “Thanks,” before sliding over to Jihoon’s side of the room and crouching down on the carpet, peering beneath the bed. He doesn’t find the book, even after sifting through clothing piles on the floor and on the chair, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find _something_.

When he gives up on his search, he still sees Woojin there, sitting on his bed, hunched forward as he scrolls on his phone. Minhyun can’t help but let his gaze flit. The tops of Woojin’s shoulders create slight ridges, sliding towards his neck and chest as his collarbones are pressed forward, coloring dark shadows over his skin that are more of a blue than a black in the lighting. His eyes move back and forth, reading something on the screen of his phone, and the rest of his body is still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. Minhyun can count in time with the breaths Woojin takes, and he finds his own falling in step with Woojin’s.

Woojin, feeling a pair of eyes on him, lifts his head up. The strands of his hair sway slightly back and forth as he does so. “Hyung,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Minhyun replies, and there’s more breath in his response than voice. He sees himself walking over until he’s standing right next to Woojin, and there’s Woojin looking up at him, his eyes impossibly wide, the black of his lashes stark against the white of his eyes. The strands of his hair are almost as dark, and Minhyun watches a droplet of water form at the tip of one clump before sliding down the surface of Woojin’s cheek. The sides of his neck and the tops of his shoulders are damp, they gleam in the dull light of the room, and there are still bits of water crawling down them.

“Let me,” Minhyun begins, and he leans over, picking up the towel from next to Woojin, “towel your hair for you.”

Woojin doesn’t respond, he just looks away as Minhyun drapes the towel over his head, patting his hair, pulling the strands away from his face. Once the cloth has soaked up a good percent of the excess moisture, Minhyun slides it down to Woojin’s neck and shoulders, rubbing away the shininess from his skin. The towel is left to drape over Woojin’s right shoulder even after Minhyun has finished wiping, and Minhyun can’t help but see the climbing of his own fingertips -- they come to rest at the junction between Woojin’s other shoulder and his neck, and his touch is light, Woojin’s skin is warm underneath his hand, and he does not notice his thumb pressing gently into flesh.

“Hyung,” Woojin says, and he turns his head and looks up at Minhyun, and all Minhyun sees is the way his bone and muscle shift beneath his skin at such a simple movement -- it’s gratifying, watching those lines and shadows dance across such a uniform canvas. And that’s what it is to Minhyun-Woojin’s skin, that is--he’s nothing like a blanket of just-fallen snow, but to Minhyun, there is gold imbued in Woojin’s skin, and it is a gold that no one has yet discovered. He moves his fingers just slightly, tapping the tip of his index finger against the side of Woojin’s neck.

“Can I--” he whispers, and he sees the bob of Woojin’s Adam’s apple. “Can I touch you?”

“O-Okay,” Woojin murmurs, his voice slightly shaking, and he turns his head away once more.

Minhyun just swallows, setting the towel resting on Woojin’s shoulder off to the side.

He starts at Woojin’s nape, running his index finger down slowly, and he sees the hairs on the back of Woojin’s neck rise from his touch. Minhyun rubs the knob at the beginning of his spine, the bone jutting out of his skin just slightly, as Woojin is hardly hunched forward. He takes his other hand and presses both his palms over Woojin’s shoulders, sliding them along skin, and he can feel the ridges of flesh beneath his hands, as if he himself were mapping out mountains and valleys and rivers. Moving down, there’s Woojin’s shoulderblades, the discs of his spine sitting between them. If Minhyun tries, he thinks he could count them, but for now, his mind is working on autopilot, tracing the tip of a finger over those corrugations, and for a moment, he imagines the flash of white in front of his eyes, as if Woojin’s wings began in the space between his spine and his shoulderblades.

When he slides his palms lower, he feels the tremble of Woojin’s body against his skin, the rising of goosebumps apparent against his hands, creating a texture that Minhyun can only describe as the roughest kind of smooth. The planes of Woojin’s back are sleek -- they are not ridged like his shoulders or spine, but Minhyun can still feel the curving of his muscle, the way it wraps around his bone and his flesh as a result of all the amount of time he dedicates to dancing. Minhyun can almost taste the blood and sweat and tears Woojin has shed in perfecting his art in the simple rippling of his back, and he tilts his hands, wrapping his fingers around Woojin’s sides and pressing his palms into his flesh -- it is warm, firm, and he runs his thumb along skin. He receives a violent shiver in response, and his movements pause.

He hears nothing but both of their breaths for several moments, and Woojin’s are so quiet, Minhyun almost assumes that he isn’t breathing, but then Woojin turns his head slightly and looks up at him just from the corner of his eye, and Minhyun can see the nod in his gaze.

It is more than enough encouragement for Minhyun, and he begins to map out Woojin’s lower back, from the concave above his waistline to the dips above his hips, and Minhyun halts his fingertips just before they snake around Woojin’s stomach. But he sees the dip of Woojin’s head the next moment, his neck hanging forward, protruding his shoulderblades ever-so-slightly more, and the folds in Woojin’s abdomen are the most amount of depressions Minhyun has felt on his body thus far. He digs his fingers in gently until he can feel the bone beneath the curve of flesh, and some parts of it are a firm kind of hard, yet again a by-product of the cultivation of Woojin’s art. If it is even possible, the skin beneath Minhyun’s hands becomes even hotter, as if Woojin were fighting through a feverish ailment.

Without even thinking, Minhyun leans down until his cheek is almost touching Woojin’s shoulder, and he can basically feel the heat pulsing from Woojin’s skin, the incalescence of the gold in his body rising into the air like wisps of a supernatural fog. He is spellbound by that magic, and he finds himself pressing his cheek against the top of Woojin’s back. Beneath his face, he can feel every single infinitesimal detail of Woojin’s body in that moment, all the way from the shifting of his shoulder as he trembles slightly to the prickling against his cheek from the rising of hair.

And so, in that position, where Minhyun is drowning himself in that incandescence, he climbs his fingertips farther up Woojin’s abdomen. He can count his ribs with the pressure from his fingerpads, he can trace the valleys between them with his thumbs. But when he places his palms on Woojin’s pecs, feeling the poking of his nipples against his palms, Woojin sharply intakes a breath.

“H-Hyung,” he shakily interrupts, and he turns his head and looks at Minhyun at the same time Minhyun lifts himself up. “I--” he begins, and his voice is cracking.

His face had been hidden from Minhyun the whole time, but when Minhyun sees him now, he becomes dizzy as a wave of an unknown emotion washes him, pounding against his temples like the repeated beatings of the crests from a tsunami against a concrete wall.

Woojin’s eyes were already black, but if anything, they’ve become a blacker black -- a sort of whirlpool Minhyun watches himself diving into headfirst. His lips are just slightly parted, and he has neglected breathing through his nose, and that is why his breaths were so quiet; but if Minhyun focuses, he can hear the whistling of air between Woojin’s teeth. The tops of his cheeks and the skin beneath his eyes have become hazed with a red -- a scarlet, a kind of true red that Minhyun rarely sees. It is just as extraordinary, as undiscovered as the gold imbued in his skin, and Minhyun thinks that the misting of such rich colors, such an elegant combination of the brightest of golds and the strongest of reds, is truly one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

* * *

Minhyun should’ve expected it -- after all, he’s essentially touching all over Woojin’s body, and not exactly in a way that would suggest he were tickling or trying to tease his bandmate. But instead of dragging things out and making the situation awkward, he just quietly let himself out of the room, his fingers trembling, and forced himself to focus on any of his tasks he has for that day and not think about the aftermath of events that would occur behind that door. Woojin will just take care of himself. Sometimes he will hole himself in his room for the next few hours, and Minhyun will spend his time reading a book, watching TV, cooking, or maybe practicing at the studio with the rest of his bandmates. Woojin will just reappear later in the evening or afternoon, and Minhyun will place his palms on his shoulders while he sits at the dining table and watch him bicker with Jihoon with a slight grin on his face.

It is never discussed what this exactly is between them, if this is simply Minhyun wanting to touch and Woojin allowing him to touch, or if Woojin likes to touch or if this touching is more than just touching to him -- in Minhyun’s mind, it is just his admiration for Woojin manifesting itself into his behavior, and as long as he keeps this aspect of himself at an arm’s length, he will be okay.

Woojin must understand what he is thinking, or he must be thinking the same thing. He must understand that he is only basking in Minhyun’s admiration for him, or he must be thinking that he relishes the fact that there is someone that appreciates his body more than he himself does.

But there is also that part of Minhyun that recognizes that although his intent is purely objective--that he has no ulterior motive, it’s all laid out in front of his eyes--it’s mightily futile for no kind of otherworldly desire, no kind of torrid _lust_ to arise out of it, because after all, Minhyun is _touching_ , and he is touching someone he wholeheartedly admires. Some days, he’ll get as agitated as Woojin does, and when he lets himself out of the room, he’ll slink into the bathroom and take a cold shower. He doesn’t touch himself, because then everything’s going to spiral and soon he’ll see Woojin more as an object of lust rather than an object of admiration, and Minhyun doesn’t want to complicate things even more between them, and not to mention the fact that he’s quite sure Woojin doesn’t see him _that_ way -- if his affections grew wings, then there would be no possibility for them to fly.

That doesn’t mean that there’s not that desire still sitting right there in front of him, and whenever he has a hand on Woojin’s shoulder, he can’t help but curl his fingers in just a little bit in an almost possessive grip, or if his arm is thrown around Woojin’s body, he’ll pull him in a little bit closer than necessary, because Woojin is warm and Minhyun likes that warmth. He’s not necessarily a touchy-feely person, but he likes to keep his good friends physically close--he’s held onto Minki tightly like this before, maybe even Jaehwan once or twice (before Jaehwan tried to violently jab him in the sides, of course)--but never before has his relationship with someone spiralled into something new this quickly.

The nth time it happens--really, Minhyun can’t even recall what time it was, as it is never planned when he and Woojin touch--Woojin is leaning against him, his back against Minhyun’s chest, his chin up in the air as his head is hanging over Minhyun’s shoulder, eyes closed. He’s gotten more calm the more times they’ve done this, and Minhyun finds much more satisfaction in running his hands along the relaxed muscles beneath Woojin’s skin, rather than they be pulled tense and taut. And along with the alleviation in his body, Minhyun thinks that Woojin has become more mentally flexible when he’s with him. There’s the hitch of his breath, the puffing of air entering and leaving his throat as Minhyun runs his thumbs over his hipbones -- he’s discovered that when Woojin is aroused, he chooses to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose. He does not stifle the noise anymore, and Minhyun is glad, because at first, there was a part of him that had been panicked that Woojin was entirely uncomfortable, as he’d been almost completely silent.

Minhyun has his hands on Woojin’s hips, now stroking circles into Woojin’s back with his thumbs, and Woojin turns his head to press his cheek into Minhyun’s shoulder, his eyes still closed. Minhyun hangs his head forward, and if he looks out of the corner of his eye, he can see the lines of Woojin’s neck, the shadows around his Adam’s apple dance with his erratic breathing and swallowing; and then if his gaze travels lower, there’s those two uniform corrugations of Woojin’s collarbones -- he trails the fingertips of one hand up and runs them along a collarbone, and Woojin rolls his head just slightly, cracking an eye open at Minhyun.

“Are you okay?” Minhyun whispers, and Woojin blinks blearily at him, like he’s not quite comprehended Minhyun’s question.

“Yes, _hyung_ ,” Woojin whispers back, and the _hyu_ in his sentence is almost hissed, his voice filled with breath. Minhyun almost leans forward and presses his lips to Woojin’s nose, his cheek, his upper lip and takes a taste of those breaths that Woojin inhales and exhales, but that’s treading over the boundary, that’s treading over the silent barriers that he and Woojin have set up.

Minhyun lets his head fall even more until his chin is pressing into Woojin’s skin. He places his palms, warm and firm, over Woojin’s stomach, just a little lower than where his belly button is, and applies just the slightest amount of pressure, feeling the softer flesh than the rather tough furrows of Woojin’s abdomen. When he stares right in front of him, he sees the gray of the sweatpants Woojin wears, tented in the front with his arousal. Woojin’s hips tremble slightly, his breath briefly being cut off, when Minhyun strokes his fingertips over the heat beneath his palms.

And then when he crawls his fingerpads just a little farther, nails scraping gently above the waistband of Woojin’s sweatpants, which are already pushed down rather low, Woojin rolls his hips, and his hands grasp desperately at the sheets below him, wrinkling the cotton beneath his crazed grip.

“I think I should stop,” Minhyun says, lifting his head, taking his hands off of Woojin’s torso. But when he glances over at Woojin, he sees that his eyes are still squeezed shut -- he is not moving off of Minhyun’s body, and Minhyun is not sure whether he should push him off or not. Is that much too rude for the situation; should he wait and let Woojin come to his own senses?

He sits there, his arms hanging at his side, palms pressed flat into the mattress, watching the desperate rise and fall of Woojin’s chest. He thinks he’s sat there for at least a few minutes -- it normally does not take Woojin this long to recover, he’s back out of that space in his head within a minute or so… except for this time around, it seems.

Minhyun notices the tenting in front of the gray cotton of Woojin’s arousal again, and there’s a dark patch at the very front, precome having soaked through. He all of a sudden remembers the first time he saw Woojin touching himself, and he purposefully looks away.

“You don’t-- s-shouldn’t,” he suddenly hears.

“W-What?” he murmurs, jerking his head up and glancing at Woojin, who had lifted up his head just slightly, so he can stare Minhyun in the eye with a lidded and heavy gaze.

“You can keep on going,” Woojin breathes out, his lips parted, the skin on them lifting and peeling from the dryness of the air he’d been inhaling. As if he were offering a form of encourage, he shakily raises one of his hands and grips Minhyun’s wrist. Minhyun can feel the slight tremble of his fingers as Woojin presses his own palm flat against the back of Minhyun’s hand, pushing the limb into his own heated skin at the front of his stomach.

“But Woojin--” Minhyun begins, and he doesn’t know how long Woojin is going to hold out like this. Minhyun doesn’t even know how long he himself is going to hold out either, because there’s the twitching of Woojin’s hips again -- he’s almost raising himself into Minhyun’s hand, because Minhyun is not applying pressure with his palm himself.

That doesn’t mean that Minhyun doesn’t see his own fingers trembling violently, as if they were waltzing some drunken dance across that same slip of skin right above the waistband of Woojin’s pants, and the idea of going lower briefly flits across his mind; but it is fleeting, he knows he shouldn’t and couldn’t. “W-Woojin, I have to stop,” he whispers, and now his fingertips are resting on that waistband, but the rest of his hand is still against Woojin’s skin. “I don’t have any i-intent to touch you like that.” He silently adds, _And nor do I have any intent to hurt or scare you._

Minhyun expects Woojin to lift up his body, expects the heat against his own chest to become relinquished, expects the cold of the room’s air to hit him and freeze him momentarily.

Yet, none of that happens. Instead, Woojin looks at him, opening his eyes just a little more, and mumbles, “You can.”

“I can what?” Minhyun replies.

“Touch me like that,” Woojin murmurs, and he glances down at himself, lifting his hips just slightly, “you can do that. You should do that.”

Minhyun remains silent for several long seconds, and he swallows the anxiety that’d risen in his throat, before he replies, “O-Okay.”

Woojin lets out a sigh, resting his head over Minhyun’s shoulder once again, slowly letting his eyes fall closed as Minhyun gingerly slides a hand underneath the waistbands of both his pants and underwear.

He sucks in a sharp breath as Minhyun finally wraps his palm around the body of his cock. Minhyun lets the slight roughness in his skin rub against Woojin’s dick as he strokes up and down slowly, watching Woojin shivering at the sensation, his back arching just a bit as his hips rise up into Minhyun’s grip, and Minhyun sees the slight puff of his chest from the position. It’s an odd kind of view to see things from, where there’s the rapid shifting of the shadows on Woojin’s torso from his small movements and the hasty contractions of his stomach from his rapid breathing, and then if Minhyun’s gaze skirts lower, he sees the movements of his own hand through that gray cotton.

When he runs the pad of his thumb along the head, Woojin’s hips stutter. The skin there is slightly coarse underneath Minhyun’s touch, but it is smoothed over when he wipes the beading of precome from the tip all around. He remembers how the head of Woojin’s cock was darker than the body as he swipes his thumb up and down a short length of the shaft.

“Oh,” Woojin murmurs, his hands digging fiercely into the bedsheets as Minhyun begins to stroke at a higher pressure and fast pace, letting his fingertips dig in gently.

Minhyun sees the sliding of sweat down the side of Woojin’s temple, and he almost presses his lips there to kiss it away, but his attention is torn away, quartered -- there’s, of course, the feeling of Woojin’s cock pulsing in his palm, there’s the erratic breaths Woojin takes, whistling through the quiet atmosphere of the room; there’s the arching of his back, the pushing of his chest up towards the ceiling--Minhyun thinks it’s a lovely shape--and there’s the reverberating heat of Woojin’s body against his chest.

His hand moves up to the base of Woojin’s dick, and with his index and middle finger, he runs them along Woojin’s balls. Woojin’s knees raise at the feeling, his toes curling and uncurling into the sheets. His head is now thrown to the other side, and Minhyun can feel the uneven pressures from his cheek against his shoulder as he breathes.

There’s the dampness sliding down his palm as a result of the mixing of the sweat from his own hand and Woojin’s precome. As he strokes, it spreads, slickening up the body of Woojin’s cock, and Woojin furrows his brows, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he rolls his hips with Minhyun’s movements. But Minhyun places a gentle hand on Woojin’s hip -- Woojin rubs erratically against Minhyun’s own body as a result of his restless shifting, and Minhyun is already completely hard.

Woojin slides a hand up onto Minhyun’s knee, his elbow braced at an almost ninety-degree angle, fingers digging in desperately. He lets out a breath, as if he were beginning to say something, but either his voice won’t work, or he never intended to say anything in the first place.

Minhyun squeezes his palm around the base of Woojin’s cock, keeping the pressure from his hand steady as he strokes slowly. And when he presses his fingertips against the head, Woojin digs his fingernails into Minhyun’s knee, biting his lip. “Hy--” he begins, but his voice is abruptly choked as his hips stutter in the air. He comes a few seconds later from the sensation, turning his head away as he does so.

Minhyun feels the sticky wetness cover his hand as Woojin lifts his hips the highest he’s seen them go. His body relaxes a few seconds later, breathing still rather rushed. His arms fall, and the one that’d been gripping onto Minhyun’s knee rests back onto the bed.

“I--” he begins, cracking open an eye at Minhyun. There’s a question on his expression, but his mouth only hangs open, no words coming from his lips.

“Felt good?” Minhyun whispers.

“Yes,” Woojin replies, his gaze flickering away for a moment, “thank you.”

Minhyun retracts his hand from Woojin’s sweatpants and holds the limb up, looking at the white wet that’s coated his fingers.

“I--” Woojin stutters, lifting himself up and turning around to sit on his shins. He glances downward. “You’re still hard, hyung, sor-- I-- let--”

But Minhyun shakes his head, and he pushes Woojin back with a hand on his shoulder before sliding off of his bed. “It’s alright,” he says. “It’s alright.”

* * *

“You can do it again,” Woojin tells him the next time. “You should do it again.”

Minhyun knows that Woojin's words were and are essentially a suggestion. He never outright told Minhyun to do it or that he must do it, yet for some reason, they ring like pleading request in Minhyun's ears -- a request he can't help but heed.

And so Minhyun slips an arm around Woojin's waist and holds him against his body as he skates a hand down, and Woojin does all but deny -- he crawls his fingers around Minhyun's nape and leans his forehead on his shoulder.

From the position, Minhyun now has a different angle on what he sees. His gaze skims from point to point on Woojin's back, his eyes following the quivers of muscle they catch. The expanse of Woojin's skin is extremely uniform, a kind of silk surface that Minhyun can't help but stare and admire, watching the folds and shadows in them ripple. His hand trembles as it wraps around and begins to trace shapes on Woojin's back. Stars, circles, hearts, squares -- the tip of Minhyun's finger is a paintbrush, and he creates art on the silken paper of Woojin's skin. He can almost see the picture he's painting in his head, following the rise of goosebumps that trail after his finger, which he smooths over a minute later with a warm and gentle palm.

Somehow, this becomes part of the idea of touching to them -- it's simply an aftermath of what began as their touching. They do not--or more so haven't--gone so much further. Minhyun will jack Woojin off, and Woojin has managed to coax Minhyun into letting him help him as well. Maybe sexual desire has become a small part of it, but both of them still firmly believe that it is still the admirer and his admiration.

Minhyun cradles Woojin's hand in his own palm one day after they've both gotten off. There's a question at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't know how to ask it, or more like he is uncomfortable asking it. He is uneasy with the idea that Woojin may be uncomfortable with his answer.

“You can tell me,” Woojin murmurs. He's gotten proficient at reading Minhyun -- at recording the slightest shifts in his actions or expressions, because after all, Minhyun's actions and emotions become concentrated whenever he's with Woojin.

“Oh,” Minhyun murmurs, and Woojin smiles softly at his hesitation. “Am I… allowed to touch you lower?” Minhyun asks.

“'Lower’?” Woojin mumbles, his eyebrows knitting together. “You already do, hyung.”

“I mean, like your legs,” Minhyun clarifies.

“And ass, right?” Woojin replies, cracking a grin, and Minhyun can only roll his eyes and nod at Woojin's cheekiness. “Go ahead,” Woojin hums, sliding off of the bed, and Minhyun watches the shadows in his back move as he walks around, sticking his hands in a pile of clothes to retrieve a shirt.

* * *

It’s a little embarrassing for Woojin--even more than the first time he’d let Minhyun touch him--when he sits on the middle of Minhyun’s bed, all bare and dark. The curtains are shut, the lights off, and there’s only the slivers of sunlight snaking through the gaps in the curtains that allows Minhyun to see where he’s placing his hands.

He sits in front of Woojin, his stance unsure, and he raises his palms, setting them on Woojin’s knees, the pressure from his hands light because he’s just as anxious as Woojin.

“Go,” Woojin whispers. Minhyun can’t see the details of his face, but judging by his voice, he’d only whispered that so that the both of them wouldn’t be caught in a crevice of hesitation -- that’s typical of Woojin, Minhyun thinks, as he’s always been one of the members that would power through uneasiness because he knew that once the initial hill was over, the rest would be an easy glide.

He falls backwards onto the mattress with a soft _whump_ as Minhyun gets on his knees and leans forward, stroking his fingertips up and down the front of Woojin’s thighs, a rhythm ebbing its way through his movements -- one two, one two, as his hands slide up and down. Even though he can see little, he can _feel_ the curve of flesh on Woojin’s thighs. He’s not necessarily bony, nor rigid, nor completely soft and squishy -- a perfect balance, Minhyun thinks, as the hot of his palms press down right below Woojin’s hipbones. There’s a _whoosh_ of a breath rapidly sucked in as he does so, and his movements stutter just slightly.

“Go on,” Woojin murmurs, and Minhyun sees him turn his head away.

“Are you nervous?” Minhyun asks, as his hands slide downward, his thumb leading the way as his palms trail down to graze just the barest of the insides of Woojin’s thighs.

“I--” Woojin begins, and when Minhyun glances up, Woojin’s looking at him. His eyes gleam for just a moment. “Yes, I am, hyung.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Minhyun mumbles as a reply, and he runs the sides of his fingertips on the softest, innermost parts of Woojin’s legs, admiring how the skin changes from simply smooth to even more plush. He feels Woojin twitch -- it’s just a slight tremble beneath his hands, but he nonetheless feels it as immediately as if there were an earthquake. “I just can’t believe how… flawless you are,” he adds, voice just hardly a murmur, as he partially was unaware the words even left his lips.

Woojin closes his eyes, trying to resist the temptation to pull his legs together in order to hide the hasty pooling of arousal in his lower abdomen from both Minhyun’s touches and his words -- it is, after all, Minhyun’s first time touching his _legs_. Generally Minhyun almost never speaks whenever they do this either, but whenever his voice floats through the air towards Woojin, Woojin’s ears pick it up like a magnet against a precious metal.

Minhyun simultaneously scoots backwards as he runs his fingers along the insides of Woojin’s legs until he reaches his knees. He skirts his fingertips around the joints, dipping them into the crevices created from the bending of skin around bone, and when he massages the areas with his palms, Woojin’s breath hitches and his knees twitch.

Minhyun swallows, continuing to scoot backwards and run his hands along Woojin’s shins, feeling the rise of his tibias. And when he makes it to his ankles, he focuses both his hands on one joint, rubbing the knobs of bone that stick out and dipping into the valleys created by the expansion of skin, before moving to the other one and repeating his actions.

“Hey,” he begins, “could you flip over?”

“O-Okay,” Woojin shakily replies, sliding a palm over his lower stomach to wipe away the stickiness that’d gathered before he hastily clamors over and lays on his stomach. Minhyun hears the anxiety and anticipation in his voice, because this will be the first instance that Minhyun gets to view more of Woojin’s behind than just his back.

This time, Minhyun works his way up from Woojin’s ankles, first by slipping his hands up and down the expanse of his calves, feeling the elevation of flesh, and then pressing his fingerpads into the thin skin at the back of Woojin’s knees when his hands have made their way up. He scoots forward, the heat of his palms following his movements, running the track that is Woojin’s flesh. The backs of his thighs are not as smooth as the front -- the skin is slightly textured, a little risen from both goosebumps and natural coarseness.

His palms stop right before the rise of Woojin’s ass.

“Can--” Minhyun begins, but Woojin interrupts him, both with his voice and a jerk of his hips from the rubbing of Minhyun’s thumbs.

“Y-Yeah,” he whispers, and his voice is a little bleary, as if he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Are you sure?” Minhyun asks, his hands still paused, because he doesn’t want to push Woojin too far to the point where he might become uncomfortable.

“Go ahead.”

Minhyun swallows and lets his hands skate forward, gripping the roundness of Woojin’s ass cheeks in his palms. If anything, his skin there is hotter than the rest of his body, and Minhyun begins to slowly knead, working in thorough, languid movements.

“Oh, hyung,” he hears Woojin murmur, his voice dragged out, almost as if he were whining. He digs his elbows into the mattress, trying to prevent his hips from rising into Minhyun’s touch, but it’s quite an impossible task for him.

Minhyun begins to run his hands up and down, watching how Woojin’s ass is shaped with the pressure from his palms. He sees how shadows form around the outline of his hands, as if he were creating wakes in Woojin’s skin.

“Oh god,” he hears, when he grips into flesh with solely his fingertips. Woojin is now arching his back, his thighs shaking. His hips are lifted just the barest few centimeters above the mattress, and Minhyun can see the muscles in his back strain.

“Ah…” Minhyun begins, and he’s unsure of what to say. “D-Do you need me to, uh, help you? Here.” He taps one of Woojin's ass cheeks with an index finger.

Woojin makes some indiscernible noise at his offer. He lifts his head up, staring over his shoulder at Minhyun, and Minhyun can practically feel the hesitation radiating off of him; yet the moment after, he asks, “ _Please._ ”

“Okay,” Minhyun replies, and he places a hand right before the rise of Woojin’s rear. “Have you… done this before?”

Woojin shakes his head. “Not with another person.”

So Minhyun just swallows. “Okay.” He purses his lips. “I’ll be careful.”

He hears the smile in Woojin’s voice. “I’ll be fine, hyung.”

“O-Okay,” Minhyun mumbles, and his voice is more breath than voice. He carefully places a hand on one side of Woojin’s ass, his other hand trailing an index finger down his crack, before he feels the puckering of skin. Woojin shivers violently, the small of his back trembling, and Minhyun almost stops, but he knows Woojin wants him to go on, and a part of him also thinks that the slight and quivering movements Woojin makes are mesmerizing.

There’s no lube, Minhyun knows, and he has no intentions to hurt Woojin by making him take Minhyun's fingers dry. He just lifts up his hand and slides two of his fingers between his lips, wetting them thoroughly, and there’s threads of saliva that connect his fingertips and mouth when he pulls them out, but they’re snapped easily when he takes his hand away from his face. The pad of his finger presses against Woojin’s rim, and Minhyun’s eyes widen as he watches his finger sink in slowly, all the way down to the knuckle, and Woojin beneath him is squirming slightly, jerking his hips back and forth in order to adjust to the feeling.

“Is it painful?” Minhyun asks quietly, one hand placed firmly on Woojin’s hip.

“No,” Woojin replies breathily, “I just need to… g-get used to it, y--”

“I understand,” Minhyun hums, “just tell me whenever you’re comfortable.”

Woojin lets out an audible breath and he clenches and unclenches his fists into the bedsheets. He forces himself to breathe slowly, and Minhyun can visibly see how Woojin’s back is no longer hastily rising and falling, instead relaxing into a steady and rhythmic pace. “I’m okay now,” Woojin whispers, and so Minhyun rubs the small of his back soothingly with a hand as he gently nudges against Woojin’s rim with a second finger, pressing it in the moment after. Woojin’s curling and uncurling his toes, muscles tensing as his body accepts the intrusion.

Minhyun pauses his movements. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just… a little… w-weird.” Woojin would be lying if he said it weren’t at all uncomfortable. There’s slight pain, as his body’s entirely unused to the action -- fingering himself isn’t a thing he does often, and even then, it’s no more than one or two fingers. He’s shifting his legs and hips around, trying to find a way where Minhyun’s fingers might fit in him comfortably, but with each tug sends a jolt of oddly satisfying pleasure and pain dancing up his spine.

“Here,” Minhyun begins, noticing the fact that Woojin still hasn’t entirely adjusted to the stretch -- perhaps Minhyun’s saliva was not enough to make the slide comfortable enough? “Let me.” Minhyun’s leaning down until his lips are right next to his fingers, and there’s the ghost of his breath on Woojin’s rim.

“What--” Woojin begins, but his words are cut short by a wet and tentative lick to his hole, which sends his back arching and his fingers digging violently into the bedsheets. “H-Hyung,” he says, and it’s almost a moan, his voice higher and breathier. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s my tongue,” Minhyun replies, “I… I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. I’ll stop if it’s making you--”

“No,” Woojin interrupts, raising his head and looking over his shoulder, and Minhyun glances up and meets Woojin’s eyes in surprise, “you can keep on going. You should keep on going.” There’s that word again-- _should_ \--and Woojin’s licking his lips, which had become dry and cracked with the amount of air he’d been inhaling through his mouth.

“Okay,” Minhyun murmurs, breaking their connected gaze as he leans down once again. A moment before his tongue darts out, he notices that Woojin’s rim is just as perfect as the rest of his body -- it’s a darker color than his skin, uniformly stretching around the girth of Minhyun’s fingers. The slide hadn’t been particularly difficult, but nor was it easy -- a balance, Minhyun thinks.

He’s running his tongue along the rim the next moment, and Woojin sharply gasps, his back quivering, legs twitching. The noises he makes are almost just as satisfying as the feeling of his body underneath Minhyun’s palms, and Minhyun is overwhelmed -- how one human be so flawless in every single aspect?

He dips the tip of his tongue into the slight crevice between his fingers and Woojin’s rim, letting his saliva coat the skin, and with the extra slick his tongue is able to press into Woojin. Above him, Woojin is gasping, and he’s trying his best to control his hips. They threaten to push back and rut against Minhyun’s face, inviting Minhyun’s fingers and tongue to explore further. The stimulation’s kicking Woojin in the gut -- he’s never felt like this before, sweating and gasping and unbearably hot from the simple touches of a hand and a tongue.

Minhyun crooks his fingers, spreading them apart and stroking gently along Woojin’s walls, his tongue smoothing around the perimeter with languid and slow movements. He leans back briefly, and he notices how Woojin’s rim has reddened, clenching around just two fingers, squeezing them so tightly together that some part of Minhyun is afraid of stretching too much and hurting Woojin. The shininess from his saliva reflects just briefly in the dim lighting, and Minhyun’s fingers are the wettest they’ve been the whole time, allowing easier movement. He shifts the position of his fingers, and Woojin suddenly gasps, accidentally kicking Minhyun in the process as his thighs tremble.

“H-Hyung-- I’m--” Woojin begins, but Minhyun shushes him gently, once again rubbing his free hand soothingly on the small of Woojin’s back. He knows what he’s found, and he can just barely twist his hand again so that his fingers rub against that spot -- with the sudden stimulation, Woojin is clenching so tightly around him that Minhyun is once again mildly afraid of stretching him too much. He gently moves his fingers, nails scratching against that spot, and Woojin is gasping loudly and sharply into the mattress.

He’s not used to this kind of constant stimulation, and Minhyun’s fingers rubbing against his prostate is a feeling so foreign, yet so _pleasurable_ to him, that his body feels like it’s being sent into overdrive. Minhyun’s touch is sparking up his spine, his body is too hot, and sweat is coating his back.

With one last press of Minhyun’s fingerpads, Woojin’s nearly keening as he comes, thighs and back quivering as his orgasm rocks his body. He’s panting, sucking in desperate breaths, because it’s almost like he can’t breathe -- his head’s spinning, and his vision is unclear. Several seconds later, and he’s still digging his face into the bedsheets -- it’s hit him, that he just came from the movements of Minhyun’s fingers inside him coupled with the strokes of Minhyun’s tongue… Minhyun’s licked him _down there,_ and Woojin’s face heats at the realization.

He feels the mattress shift, and there’s Minhyun sitting next to him, fingertips stroking through his hair -- “Woojin, are you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and gentle.

Woojin forces his head to turn, and with one cheek pressed against the mattress, he looks up at Minhyun and whispers, “Yes.”

“As long as you're okay.”

Woojin wants to turn his head away, maybe bury his face back in the sheets; he hopes Minhyun can’t see the red on his cheeks because of how dim the room is, but Woojin himself nonetheless feels the heat flaring on his face.

Yet, there is Minhyun staring down at him, a quiet expression on his face, still stroking Woojin’s hair, and Woojin murmurs, “What about you, hyung?”

Minhyun would be lying if he said he hadn’t got aroused at all from watching Woojin squirm around two of his fingers, but his arousal isn’t unbearable. “I’ll be okay,” he says, “let’s first clean you up.”

But Woojin sits up anyways, and he presses up against Minhyun, embarrassment still painting his cheeks, but he’s nonetheless insistent; and how is Minhyun supposed to resist when there’s Woojin’s breath hot at his cheek, skin and body warm? And when Minhyun slides his palms around Woojin’s waist, he once again thinks: _how can someone be so utterly flawless?_

* * *

Maybe the reason why they’ve never discussed this is because there’s absolutely no _need_ to discuss it. Minhyun once again has no clue when it began, but this time around, he doesn’t wonder when. It’s all brushed away with the press of the pad of Woojin’s thumb against his bottom lip, and Minhyun thinks this is pushing their limit, stepping over that boundary that they’ve created; he wants to say something, but the words refuse to come out of his throat. Yet, the protests that’ve manifested in his head are soothed by the thoughts he sees in Woojin’s eyes. They tell him words that Woojin might be afraid to say himself, Minhyun doesn’t know, but the way Woojin’s thumb is tugging at Minhyun’s lip gives away his intentions, all bare and exposed, and Minhyun is once again running his hands all over them, admiring their beauty and perfection, and when that thumb is replaced with another pair of lips, Minhyun swears he’s never been so entranced in his entire life.

He doesn’t know what this is between them. He doesn’t know when it started, when it grew, if it’s still growing, if it’s stopped, or if there is more in store.

Woojin doesn’t know any of this either.

But together, they’ve decided that there’s no need to know, because maybe knowing will tip the precious balance that they carry together. And whatever _this_ is, whatever helps them create moments suspended in time and touch, is priceless, invaluable, and _perfect,_ just like the dips and curves and rises that shape both Woojin’s body and Minhyun’s hands -- the hands that treasure Woojin, belonging to the person whose admiration for him is immeasurable.

* * *

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> anyways hello big thank you to mina for proofreading this a good 12 hours ago!! because i was up at 3-4am writing this!! lmao


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